Glass Houses (27 page)

“Sounds like this Bird is a smart woman. What if the man is someone you know?”

“Ah, damnit. Really? What exactly are you asking because I have no idea what I'm capable of, but I tell you this, I haven't devoted my life to doing good so I can be bad.”

“I already know that Anne is having an affair just by examining her financials. That was the easy part. I'll give you proof, but not a complete history. I'll provide plenty of evidence to conduct private negotiations. You can't use it in a court of law. If you attempt to do so, there will be consequences.”

Thom rested his forehead on the table. Tired. Spent. “I just need to know for sure. That's all I ask. I asked her outright and she lied to me.”

“You bring the twenty-two Benjamins?”

Thom pulled the bank envelope from the breast pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table.

Noa picked it up and handed it to Jin who discreetly tucked it into a pocket under his smock.

“Thank you. Always the best.”

Jin bowed then removed his smock, put on a duster, picked up a backpack, and departed.

Noa nodded with satisfaction and pressed a button on the wall.

Two assistants entered the kitchen through a side door and immediately began clearing the table.

“So what now?” said Thom.

“Keep the phone a few more days. I'll be in touch.”

“Guess I'm not a maniac after all.”

“Just a man trying to find his way through the dark.”

_____

Thom found Birdie in front of the dry erase board bouncing with excitement. She turned toward him with complete joy.

“It's been an awesome day. You won't believe what I've learned about Iris. We've turned a corner in this case.”

Thom didn't hear. His eyes focused on a manila envelope lying on the altar.

“Oh, yeah, a messenger delivered that for you. A cute old man about this big.” She held out her hand breast high.

“When?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

“Sonofabitch,” said Thom. “Noa already had it.”

“Wait. Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah.”

“Already? You just saw him.”

Thom picked up the envelope. Tossed it hand to hand. Weighed
the decision.

“Open it,” encouraged Birdie.

He tossed it to her. “You open it.”

Birdie ripped it open, laid the contents on the altar.

A stack of documents, a photo sleeve, and three discs labeled
Anne, Thom,
and
misc.

The label on the photo sleeve read:
caution.

The label on Anne's disc read:
enter at your own risk.

_____

Thom knelt at the prie-dieu at the eastern corner of Birdie's living room. Birdie hung back while he finished praying. When he was done Birdie gave him a hug for good luck. He wavered and fell onto the couch.

“Anne's disc is ready. Just touch the play button,” she said.

“The documents?”

“Culled from different sources. A financial history of Anne's expenditures. Clothing, shoes, jewelry—both men and women's. The earliest transactions out of the norm appeared in October of last year. In December she opened a private account at a small bank. She also has a dedicated credit card. Right now the bank account has a balance of just over three-hundred thousand, but nearly four times that much has moved through it. The biggest purchase was a house. A three-bedroom place in Brentwood. Gated of course. A private love nest.

“There are a number of bills paid through the account: two cell phones on a shared family plan, maintenance fees for the house, the credit card, of course. The biggest expense besides the house has gone to an investigator. It confirms that Anne paid for the eyes and ears on you. I assume the disc labeled Thom is proof of your malfeasance, but I didn't look at it. Nor did I look at the miscellaneous disc.”

“The photos?”

“Didn't look.”

Thom stood and took a deep, weary breath.

“I'm going upstairs,” said Birdie. “Give you some space.”

“No. Don't. Watch with me? I can't do this alone.”

Birdie held out her hand. They threaded fingers and went into the office.

forty-eight

Birdie had set up
a second monitor next to the one on her desk.

“A spare. The video is split screen. I thought it'd be easier to view
this way,” she explained.

On the left monitor were establishing shots of Anne's Ford Five Hundred. The camera zoomed onto the license plate.

“Impressive,” said Birdie.

It moved upward and got a straight-on view of the driver. Anne appeared to be singing, her fingers tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. At this very moment Birdie lost all respect for the woman.

Thom fisted his hands, his face set to a stony glare.

Anne waited until the gate closed behind her before proceeding down the driveway and turning out onto the street. The follow car pulled behind her.

“An active camera,” said Birdie.

“As opposed to?”

“One that's static, stationary. The operator has control of the view.”

On the right monitor, a GPS street map. Anne's car appeared as a blue dot. The follow car as a green dot.

“A tracker,” said Birdie.

“Is that the date and time?” said Thom pointing at the lower left
corner of the real view. “Holy shit. This was taken yesterday.” Thom's
mouth fell open. He slapped his head. Spun around the office. “I can't do this.”

Birdie pressed pause and waited. She had no idea what agonies he felt. She only could guess based on her own struggles to recover from recent tragedies—every day an effort.

Thom paced the room muttering. Anne was the light of his life. The woman he loved. The one who slowly slipped through his fingers like sand. His life was about to change in unexplainable and tragic ways. His future uncertain.

Thom said, “Bird … I can't watch.”

“Okay.” She turned off the monitors. “It's redundant, anyway. Her love affair is confirmed, that's sufficient.”

“That's not what I meant. I need to know who. I want you to watch and tell me. Please be the eyes I can't be.”

“How would I know who the guy is?” she said in a borderline whine.

“His identity is in there somewhere.” He pointed at the package.

“Thom …” she pleaded. She really didn't want to.

“Please, Bird. I'm going to wait in my room.” He held out his arms. She went to him and he pulled her into a tight hug, buried his face in her hair. His body shuddered with grief.

“I don't think I can live without her,” he whispered.

“You're already living without her,” said Birdie, gently. “You'll get through this. I survived Matt. You'll survive Anne. We Keanes come from rugged stock. We get knocked down, we get back up.”

Thom kissed her forehead. “Thank you for being my family, my friend. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Thom.”

“I'll wait for you upstairs. I'm sorry.”

He let go and departed.

Birdie sat back down in front of the monitors; popped a fresh piece of Doublemint into her mouth and turned them back on. Her finger hovered over the play button. Afraid for Thom. Anne had forced her husband into three rotten choices: to be celibate, asexual, or seek sex elsewhere. Instead of working on the marriage with the father of her children, she took the selfish road to pleasure—Thom and the kids be damned.

With a deep breath of sorrow she pressed play and restarted the video.

Her eyes tracked between the images as the car drove streets familiar to Birdie. Anne headed toward Brentwood. The love nest.

This was a two-camera follow. The one shooting Anne's car appeared to originate from the top of the car. A second camera had to be mounted on the ceiling and aimed at the dash, the GPS monitor screen in the center of the field. Every now and then she'd see a gloved hand move an analog stick and the view from the top of the car would change. No wonder this friend of Ron's was so expensive—he had cool toys.

The green dot passed the blue dot. The hand toggled the analog stick and the camera swept 180-degrees and now shot Anne from the front. Birdie couldn't help being impressed by the technology.

Anne continued the singing, driving casual, no cares in the world. Seeing her this happy was hard to watch and Birdie understood why Thom couldn't do it.

A green light, like that from a laser, flashed briefly from the follow—now ahead—car. The signal was returned from some bushes. The images on the monitor went blank. A banner scrolled
holding … holding … holding …

The hand-off had occurred.

A greenish image flicked up on the left monitor. Night vision. Though it wasn't completely dark, the day waned and the light diminished. Whoever operated it had a steady hand. It moved quickly up the street and slid into the gate just as it closed and up the driveway that curved left. A garage door rolled upward. The camera operator was no more than sixty feet away, possibly shooting from the ground. It zoomed onto a second vehicle already in the garage. Got a close up of the license plate …

Birdie covered her mouth and suppressed a scream.

She knew the car. And its bastard owner.

Birdie paused the video and pushed back from the desk.

Oh, this couldn't get worse. She got up and paced, just as Thom had done. Shook out her hands. What to do? This betrayal would be a soul-searing injury to Thom. His reaction to the man's identity would be swift and potentially deadly. There'd be no way she'd be able to stop him.

She picked up the phone and dialed Arthur. “Hey,” he answered, all sleepy. “It's late.”

“I have an emergency situation. I need you to come to the Bird House immediately.”

“What's going on?” all serious and wide awake. She could hear him moving around quickly, prepping to depart.

“I'm going to need help with Thom. I won't be able to handle him alone.”

“What happened?”

“I'll explain when you get here. Pick up Father Frank on the way. I'll call and give him a heads-up. The new code for the front door is 9-9-3-8. Let yourself in.”

“Roger that. I'm on my way.”

Birdie dialed Frank's number. At this hour, the volunteer would be gone and she'd get the message machine. She crossed her fingers that he'd at least screen the call and pick up. It rang and rang until she finally got the generic greeting for St. Joseph Catholic Church. She sat impatiently through the Mass times, hours of confession, ways to make a donation, and directions to the church before she finally got to the point she could press “1” to leave a message.

“Frank, this is Birdie, I have an emergency—”

“—Bird?” said Frank, picking up the phone. “Are you alright?”

“It's Thom. He's going to need our help. Arthur's on the way. He's going to swing by and pick you up.”

“Oh my. What's wrong?”

“I don't want to say on the phone. But he's going through a crisis and he'll need all of us just to get through this night.”

“Okay. I'll be ready.”

With her support team on the way Birdie debated whether to continue the video. After all, it really was redundant now. What more did they need? The paperwork alone laid out the specifics. She knew the identity of the man. Did she need the visual?

It was like being stuck in traffic that had slowed due to a crash on the other side of the freeway. Drivers paused just long enough to get a quick view of the destruction, but long enough to snake the traffic behind. It was human nature to watch the wreck.

In the end Birdie couldn't help herself. She pressed play.

… Anne lifted the trunk lid and removed a grocery bag. She walked to the door and pressed a button. The garage door slowly rolled down. Birdie half expected the cameraman to run and slide under. Instead, he placed three fingers in front of the lens and counted them down. The image flickered and a quad screen lit up. Four video views.

Noa had already wired the house. So totally illegal.

Anne put the bag on the kitchen counter. “Hello, darling,” she called out.

With audio, too.

There was no way Thom could ever see this. She dialed down the volume just in case he decided to come back into the office. Looking at it was hard enough; she didn't need to hear it as well.

The man approached Anne with a limpid look on his face. He embraced her from behind, wrapped his arms around her waist and nibbled her ear. His hands moved down her body and came back up under a loose blouse and cupped her breasts. She raised her arms and he pulled it off. She attempted to turn, but he pushed her against the counter. He hooked a finger under her chin and turned her face toward him. They kissed slowly, deeply. He moved his hands to her throat, kissed the back of her neck, down her back and released her bra with his teeth.

“Tricky,” snickered Birdie.

He held her there with one hand while the other shimmied down the skirt and she stepped out of it.

“Elastic. Sure, make it easy for him.”

He pulled her panties down, but couldn't pull them off because they hung up on her shoes. Anne managed to kick them off and then she was utterly naked. He undid his pants, pulled them down to his knees and thrust his erect penis inside her.

“No condom? Sleezeball.”

Anne held on the counter as he urgently screwed her from behind. Her mouth opened, her back arched, and too soon it was over, both of them shaking in orgasm.

Birdie fast-forwarded through the video, pausing every now and then. They did it multiple times, utilizing a bedroom, the shower, the living room couch. Three hours later, spent and hungry, they turned their attention to the groceries and she finally turned it off.

Birdie felt as though she were a dove that had just flown into a window and fell to the ground, too stunned to fly away, even as the neighborhood cat stalked. It was many minutes before she could even move.

The betrayal wasn't just Thom's. Her emotions traveled an entire road starting at gloom and ending in anger.

Birdie gathered all the material. The documents, the photo sleeve, all three discs and shoved it back into the envelope and put it in the safe. She spit out the gum, wrapped it in its foil wrapper and rolled it into a ball. She unwrapped two pieces of fresh gum and began chewing hard as she walked angry circles around the altar.

There was no way she'd go upstairs and tell Thom the awful news until after Arthur and Frank arrived. They'd advise her on how to proceed. Thom might be furious with Birdie for breaking a confidence, but he'd need all the help and support she could get for him.

As she continued circling she actually considered a scheme to conceal the man's identity. But she knew Thom. He'd torture it out of her. Then she determined that she'd give him one of her anxiety pills. Take the edge off before hearing the news. It might also calm him enough to make him forget about committing murder.

A loud pop came from upstairs.

A distinctive sound. A gunshot. No mistake.

Instinctively, she threw herself on the floor and started crawling to the desk to get her hands on the loaded Sig when she realized what the gunshot meant.

Oh, no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!

He didn't.

He wouldn't.

Birdie pushed up off the floor and sprinted out of the office, ran down the hall and hit the service stairs, taking them three at a time. She pushed open the guest room door.

On the bed, laid out with care: Thom's Class A uniform, his service weapon, and badge.

Oh, God, please no
.

She ran into the bathroom and came to an abrupt halt.

Her eyes focused on one thing: Thom's leg dangling over the edge of the bathtub.